The Siren's Song
by Red Zeppelin
Summary: DISCONTINUED! Sorry, guys. But the new story I'm working on, Odyssey, will be utilizing some elements that were going to be used in this story. It is also, in my opinion, better structured and better written. I'm holding myself to high standards for that story, so check it out! Give it a shot! Let me know what you think.
1. Prologue: Promises

AN: Thanks for clicking on this. Just wanted to add that I don't own Pokemon or its world; however, my interpretation of the world and the characters I have created are my own.

* * *

_The blonde-haired boy stood over the cliff, listening intently to the forest below. _

_A horn sounded from somewhere within the wooded valley. That had been the third one in five minutes. Concern etched the boy's face, as he considered the potential danger that could follow. It would not have been the first time they had laid such dishonest traps._

_An older man walked up behind him. He had heard the horns too._

"_You ain't actually considering going out there, are ya' John?" The man asked._

_The boy remained quiet as he heavily considered his options._

"_Well, what if they're slavers?" The man pressed pleadingly._

_John sighed and turned to face the man. _

"_What if they aren't?"_

* * *

He never thought it would work. He knew it couldn't work. And he would be right, for she was a princess, and he a mere farmer.

But this was different. The stakes were different.

He had a promise to keep.

The mighty walls of Rustboro towered over him as he neared the city. They were said to be impenetrable. The many scars seared on to the immense wall told the stories of the many attacks - from both pokemon and people - on the city of Rustboro. Each story ended the same; the attackers were utterly and irrevocably defeated.

Yes, the walls of Rustboro could repel the standing armies of people and the massive swarms of pokemon, but what of a single human boy?

Guards dotted the lengthy walls, so focused on keeping an eye out for pokemon that they missed the sleek human dodging his way from cover to cover. The boy reached a large oak tree closest to the city walls, and went to retrieve something from his inner jacket pocket. What he retrieved was an apricot shell, with a glass circle along the circumference, which in turn appeared to be cut through. From a first glance, one would think the shell would be hollow; such a person would be technically correct, yet the truth was so much more.

John clicked the central button, which opened the apricot shell, releasing red energy from the exposed interior. The power gathered into a sphere, then a fluid shape, then finally took shape. The red energy completed its transformation in the form of a wooded creature, a pokemon.

Beady, yellow eyes shone through the darkness, which John instinctively recoiled from. They had always unnerved him, despite how long they had been together. The pokemon huffed, and turned to face the walls, with its thick, white leaves blowing in the wind.

The pokemon turned to face John before he even uttered a word.

"Tenji!"

John hissed. "Fuckin' mind readers." He had still never gotten used to the shiftry's telepathic abilities.

But that wasn't important at the moment. He focused his attention at the wall; it was tall, approximately fifty feet tall. It would be a challenge, but one that could be surpassed. A dot stood idly on a section of the wall near the oak tree; it was a long shot, but John had no reason to doubt his pokemon's abilities.

John barked an order, and the pokemon's wrists flared out with leaves. With a flick of the wrist, a serrated leaf was launched into the night sky. The pokemon's aim was true, and the attack cut through the closest lone guard on the wall.

The boy tossed the hollowed apricot shell back at the monster to recall it, and retrieved a second apricot from his inside pocket. This shell released a tangled mess of a plant, vines constantly snaking around each other.

John motioned for the new pokemon to follow and ran toward the city wall. The vined mess lagged behind – its wooded feet made for poor running.

When the pokemon reached the wall, John whispered another order. This time, the monster waddled over to a pool of mud and squatted down. Its rooted feet dug into the ground, rapidly sucking up nutrients into its dehydrated body. Its vines pulsed with nutrients, and its body appeared to grow larger with each passing second. After absorbing what it deemed to be sufficient, the monster whipped a vine toward an extended cobblestone on the wall. The vine hooked it and grabbed tightly.

John thanked the monster, and began his treacherous climb up the vine. He firmly grasped the rope-like material and tentatively lifted his legs, curling them around the vine, giving John the appearance of a chimchar hanging from a tree branch. He began his ascension of the wall. The vine billowed in the open air as he travelled upwards, threatening to throw the boy to the ground below. Yet, John had no fears of the vine giving away; after all, tangela vines were said to be as strong as steel cables.

At last, John reached the top of the wall. Stepping on the cobblestone the vine was latched on to, he grabbed the highest portion of the wall that he could reach and pulled himself over. He peered between the crenellations at the tangela waddling below and sighed. It had been a good pokemon, but all good things must come to an end, and it was time for them to part ways.

John took one last look at the pokemon, before turning toward the stairwell. He hurriedly moved past the fallen guard, unperturbed at the sight of death, and ran down the stairs. It was best to leave the area as quickly as possible before someone spotted the body.

The boy ran and ran. Ten. Fifty. One hundred steps. He finally reached the last stair, and froze before the sight before of him.

Hundreds, thousands of lights shone before John. Rustboro's skyline shone like a beacon in the dark, brightening the night sky with its golden brilliance. The towering monstrosities of buildings stood silhouetted against the sky acting in defiance of the natural world. It was a common trait of Mainlander architecture, as they didn't just want to conquer lands, they wanted to prove it for all to know. In the distance, the blackened outline of a regal palace towered over the sea, casting its powerful glance over the city of Rustboro.

John knew that was where he needed to go.

That is where he is headed.

John removed the bandana around his neck and tied it on his head, hiding his hair. To the Mainlanders, he was a gweilo_ \- _a slur they used that referred to people with fair, pale skin - and they would certainly take umbrage at his presence, especially in their city. The dark of night might raise questions about his identity, but his dirtied blonde hair would remove all questions.

Deeming his disguise acceptable, John headed out into the darkened streets.

He had heard the stories, of course. Stories that described the great wealth and riches the invaders brought over from the mainland. Stories describing cities, built on foundations of gold, overlooking the island's coastlines. At one point in history, Rustboro was just a mere Japanese fishing village. It was the first village destroyed when the Mainlanders arrived with their massive warships, an event that united the Japanese and other inhabitants of Hoenn for the first time since the Cataclysm. As the stories go, the invaders crushed the unified army, annexing the shorelines of Hoenn and effectively trapping its inhabitants inside.

That was what John was told, at least. The invasion of the Mainlanders happened way before his time. A nagging thought pushed into his mind, though: how long until the invaders conquered the rest of Hoenn? They had remained complacent for some time, choosing to remain on the coastlines. Only the slaving parties made trips into the interior. John pushed the thought away; it was neither important nor relevant.

The boy walked through the streets of the city, expecting to see the vast wealth of these people.

He saw none of that. Rather, the slums he passed reminded him more of his village. Dirty children played on the streets, oblivious to the poverty around them. Mothers, silently, watched from darkened windows.

John felt a brief pang of guilt, but then saw an olive-skinned girl with dirtied black hair - common traits of the Japanese - pushed out of the doorway, followed by an enraged man, shouting at her in his foreign tongue. He reminded himself that these people were slavers, and he should feel no sympathy for such beings.

The boy stopped himself. "Not all of them are like that," he muttered to himself. The princess wasn't like that.

The dilapidated buildings began to grow into booming office towers, and the streets organized into a gridlock pattern. Probably the city's economic center, John surmised, as the streets were cleansed of the dirtied riff-raff seen in the slums. Few pedestrians walked the street; behind John, a bus turned the corner, probably carrying its passengers home after a long day of work.

A loud note echoed from the city walls, and John froze in silent fear, as did many other pedestrians. He knew the meaning of such a sound. One of the many cultural practices the invaders had brought over from the mainland was the use of large brass cymbals and gongs for warring armies, often used to strike fear into the hearts of the opposition.

Within the city of Rustboro, they were used as sirens, which meant only one thing -

The guards had found the body.

A wave of panic swept over John, He looked back at the wall; he covered a decent amount of distance from it, so he would likely be safe where he was. However, the palace would undoubtedly be under stricter guard.

John quickened his pace and ducked his head, scurrying like an ant between the monstrous buildings. He didn't have as much time as he thought.

A red light flashed on the street opposite John, indicating a pokemon had been released. A golden-furred fox rose up on its hind legs, accompanied by a burly, bearded man.

A kadabra, John recognized. The trainer was probably a guard for the city, and had been radioed to do a psychic think-scan, a practice John was familiar with. In fact, John's village elders employed psychic think-scanners on the grounds outside the town; it was one of the means to protect the village from slaver raids.

One of the village's psychic trainers had told John how think-scans worked; essentially, pokemon with telepathic powers would extend their thoughts a certain distance. Any minds caught within that range - the scanning was indiscriminate; it gathered the thoughts of all living creatures - would be picked up by the psychic pokemon, who would relay those thoughts to the trainer. Said trainer would process the thoughts and proceed with an action they deemed necessary. In other words, think-scans could help determine between friend and foe.

The boy gulped as the kadabra's eyes shone blue with psychic energy. It turned its head as it carefully scanned the street. Its head stopped in John's direction. The blue eyes were intimidating, and John felt a small presence poke the back of his mind.

Think-scans were not infallible; ghosts and dark-types were immune to psychic powers. If a person was in the presence of such a pokemon, he could theoretically protect himself from a potential scan by masking his actual thoughts with false thoughts.

A drop of sweat rolled down John's face; as part of his deal, he had been promised immunity to psychics, so why was the kadabra focusing on him for so long?

Finally, the psychic turned its head, focusing its energy on something else. The boy had gotten by for now.

At last, John reached the out wall of the palace. The moonlight shone behind the structure, accentuating the silhouettes of the pagodas circling the palace. The main building sprung from the center of the courtyard, its tiered floors growing narrower in length and width with each story in a style similar to that of a step pyramid. Two armed guards stood in front of the palace walls, with a closed portcullis protecting their rear.

No pokemon, John noted. He reached for Tenji's ball, and released the pokemon in an explosion of light, easily catching the guards' attention.

It was too late for them.

Two razor leaves whipped out from the darkness, silently cutting down the guards and extinguishing their lives. The bodies slumped to the ground with a soft thud.

One second passed. Then, another.

A third second passed. No guards appeared to have heard the noises, though the John didn't want to wait and see. He took the initiative and headed for the portcullis, with Tenji in tow.

The portcullis stood tall – approximately twenty feet tall. The wall around it was thin as it was only two bricks wide from where the gate stood. This was perfect. From an outsider's perspective, the portcullis appeared to serve as the sole doorway into the palace courtyard.

But, given the proper utilities, there is more than one way to get past a door.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairwell, and John knew he could not linger any longer.

With baited breath, John held on to Tenji's shoulder and nodded. "You know what to do."

The pokemon reached out and touched the wall beside the portcullis. Upon contact, the shadows from the wall appeared to swell upward and absorb the monster's hand. The shadow continued to grow as the pokemon's forearm, then upper arm, then torso disappeared into the growing darkness.

John gulped an exceptionally large breath, and hammered his eyes closed. Immediately, his mind wandered to his first – and, until now, last – time he stepped into the…

No, John interrupted himself mid-thought. It was best not remind himself of it; such thoughts were best kept for another time.

Cold, dead air emanated from the void, blowing back John's hair as he gingerly stepped through. He recognized the dim hum that began to reverberate throughout his skull; whether the noise was a product of this haunted place or simply a fabrication of his mind was something he could not determine. John squeezed his eyes harder. The soft noise gradually rose to a crashing crescendo; the dull reverberations in his mind were quickly replaced with a loud, hateful screech. Mental barriers broke and panic flooded John's mind as the visions filled his mind once again.

Everything returned to normal as quickly as it started. After what felt like hours, John's eyes creaked open, and took a cursory glance at his surroundings. He was sure that he had been crying, although the lack of tears suggested otherwise. Tenji, stood before him, staring disinterestedly at something off in the distance. Behind the pokemon, the great palace of Rustboro stood before John, basking in all its glory under the moonlight.

John heaved a sigh of relief. It appeared that, despite his doubts, the faint attack had worked. "Never again," he reminded himself. The underworld was place he wished to avoid for a long time.

The sound of movement coming from the other side of the wall snapped John out of his reverie. Soldiers.

"Shit," John hissed, as he remembered the very real danger lurking beyond the wall. They would undoubtedly find the two bodies he had left, and they would find them soon at that.

The courtyard that lay before John was a large, open expanse. By his estimates, the palace entrance lay approximately three hundred yards away. John gritted his teeth. It was a long shot, but not impossible. Besides, he had worked too hard, sacrificed too much to get caught.

It was now or never. Do or die. He'd be damned if he didn't succeed now.

And, of course, he had a promise to keep.

With a boost of resurging confidence, John sprinted off toward the palace, huffing and pushing his body's limits with each step. As he approached the halfway point, the city's gong once again cried out into the night. Yet, for whatever reason, John didn't seem to care. His legs ached and his lungs wheezed, and John still didn't care.

John bolted under the arched facade and into the candlelit interior of the palace. He tore through room after room, ran up a staircase here, and down a corridor there. The palace was designed to confuse and hinder invading armies; its twisting staircases and dead-end hallways created a labyrinth, yet instinct led him through the maze.

He turned the corner into a large corridor and stopped. Across from him stood a man decorated in fitting black chainmail, with the red crest of Rustboro's royal family embroidered on the front. One hand held a long spear with a wicked tip; the other held an apricot ball.

He was undoubtedly a royal guard, the highest and most respected position in the Rustboro city guard. It was his job to keep the royal family safe from harm.

Beyond the man lay an intimidatingly large, decorated door, and John knew this to be his destination.

Outside, the boots of the city guard echoed across the courtyard.

"One last hurdle," John said to himself as Tenji caught up. Perhaps a quick razor leaf would do the trick.

Reading John's mind, Tenji leapt into action, hurling two razor leaves at the armored man. With speed that belied his size, the man rolled out of the way, leaving the razor leaves to slice into the door behind him. The man quickly recovered, activated the ball's delay timer, and threw his apricot into the air. The ball exploded in a bright light, releasing a pokemon with blue fur and large ears.

A loudred, John recalled. These pokemon were common in the mountains near his village. Their large ears served to amplify outgoing noise, while also reducing incoming noise to tolerable levels. Their amplified screams easily bounced off canyon walls, alerting pokemon and humans to their presence.

Or as a warning to others. There was a reason loudred and their species were referred to as poke-alarms.

John did not hesitate to counterattack. "Tenji, the ears!" He ordered. The leafy pokemon flung his last razor leaf at the loudred. The projectile twisted through the air, hitting its mark and lopping off one of the beast's ears.

Tenji did not stop there. The monster bounded through the room, quickly crossing the distance toward the loudred as it writhed in pain. The guard shouted commands, attempting to regain control over the panicking loudred, but to no avail.

Tenji collided with the injured pokemon, clawing its face as they both fell to the floor. The loudred struggled to counter, swiping at Tenji's face with its paw, while the wooded pokemon continued to rake long gashes along its face.

The struggle was short-lived. The loudred's efforts waned as it succumbed to its heavy injuries. At this point, John noticed the guard swoop behind Tenji, attempting to intercept his assault.

"Behind you!" John screamed. The pokemon heard, and drifted into the shadows just as the guard's spear cut through the air.

The guard stepped back, face wrought in fear and body shivering in anticipation. Countering a dark-types faint attack was nearly impossible, as it required predetermined knowledge of where it would strike. He searched every shadow, dark corner, or any reasonable flank the pokemon would strike from. Even John was curious where Tenji would turn up.

The rustling of leaves broke both of their concentrations. Tenji plummeted from the ceiling, landing on the guard's back and knocking him to the ground, smashing the guard's head in the process.

"No one expects it from above," John mused. The guard rolled over onto his back, exposing his bloodied face and staring blankly at the ceiling. He sputtered nonsensically, mustering the little English he knew, prophesizing John's doom and whatnot.

John leaned over and shushed the concussed man before sending a glance at Tenji. The shiftry's yellow eyes gleamed with anticipation, and the blonde-haired boy shuddered at the pokemon's sick excitement at what would happen next.

The boy closed his eyes and gave an approving nod, and added, "Keep it clean." John moved towards the door, stepping over the motionless body of the loudred, while ignoring the gurgles of the guard's death throes.

He took a look up at the door. It was a magnificent work of art. Gold ran across the outside, serving as a border for a beautiful and intricate painting.

John recalled Tenji and grabbed hold of the jewel-encrusted knob. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for what lay beyond. The door was heavy and opened slowly, adding to the dramatic effect of the situation; it took all of his strength the move it. At last, the door creaked open just enough for John to slide through. The boy turned just as the door slammed shut behind him and gasped at the sight before him.

The room was large and well lit. Its lavish interior mirrored that of the door outside.

But that wasn't what captured John's attention.

Across the room stood a regally dressed girl, perhaps a couple years younger than John, with a sabre gripped tightly in her trembling hands.

Princess Li was beautiful, to say the least. She was the perfect image of a Mainlander; soft, brown eyes were framed by her tanned skin, with her long, black hair flowing down her back.

However, this was not seen at the moment. The sabre in her hands fell to the floor at the sight of the blonde-haired boy. Her face contorted through panic and fear and confusion and shock as she struggled to find words to speak.

Finally, she managed to find her voice. "John?" Li squeaked softly, her voice barely making it to John's ears.

John stood tall and faced her, exposing his dirtied clothes to the light. "My love," he said softly, as he crossed the room to meet her.

"John," the princess whispered softly again, as she struggled to understand the reality of the sight before her. "Is that you? Is it really you?"

They boy briskly walked up to the princess and bowed. "I made a promise."

She stammered again, ignoring his words. She struggled to translate her thoughts from her native tongue. "They said you – you killed people. Is this true?" Li's face reddened with anger at this realization. "How could you?"

"I –" John stuttered lamely, completely caught off guard. Why was it this difficult? Wasn't she supposed to fall into his arms as they walked away? Together?Shouldn't she be more understanding?

He looked up and into her eyes and by the Gods, she looked beautiful. "Don't you remember that night?"

The princess's features softened in a caring and motherly fashion. She remembered vaguely, but she remembered none the less. She didn't mean to break his heart, but he had left her no choice.

"John," she said softly. "I'm sorry –"

The sounds of boots stomping interrupted her. Li's eyes flashed with panic. "You have to leave," She said pleadingly. "They'll kill you if they find you."

John dropped to one knee before her. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

He touched her hand.

A sensation flashed behind John's eyes, his left eye specifically. It alternated between a sharp, stinging pain and a dull ache, causing John to recoil. His vision began to blur while a headache sprung up and intensified with every passing second. A familiar screeching sound pervaded through his mind, reminding him of the dim moan of the underworld.

A supernatural wind followed, and John realized that the source of the noise was not coming from his growing headache, but rather from the room itself.

Loose objects flew into the air as the wind began to pick up in speed, swirling around the center of the room and creating a surreal epicenter for the ghostly storm.

Princess Li escaped to the walls of the room, which appeared to be a safe zone, while John continued to writhe in the middle of the room. On the other side of the room, the grand doors flung open as guards flooded into the room, only to turn tail and run from the hellish sight before them.

The well-lit room turned dark as a voice boomed over the scene, followed by a dark figure rising up from the ground beside John. The figure looked familiar, yet for the life of him, John couldn't recall from where.

The figure's sole red eye cast its glance across the room, before finally stopping at John.

"_You have not paid your debts," _the being boomed in a thick Japanese accent. _"You have failed to fulfill your promise."_

The pain subsided just long enough for John to recall the identity of this dark being, and a wave of pure terror crashed over him.

John trembled beneath the shadow of the cursed being, trying to stammer out an apology, yet struggling to create words.

The shade grabbed John with a massive hand, and held him up in the air like a ragdoll.

"_You have failed to uphold your promise, you must pay the price."_

The ghost descended into the void of which it came from, dragging John alongside it.

The boy watched as the void closed up above him, and everything turned to black.

* * *

**Think-scan: **telepathic ability to extend thoughts over a certain distance, allowing the user to read the minds of others; the sensation of being think-scanned is often described as a poking feeling in the back of the mind; most commonly used by psychics, although other pokemon types capable of telepathy can use this, too (see: shiftry); term coined and translated by a Japanese pokemon professor from Lavaridge, hence its awkward phrasing

**Gweilo: **derogatory Mainlander term for people with white skin; when translated, it means something similar to "white demon" or "ghost"; there are other slurs the Mainlanders use to describe those of Japanese descent

**The Cataclysm: **the worldwide apocalyptic event that obliterated the human population and ended the Information Age, ushering the world into the Pokemon Age; technological development halted in most areas, and even regressed in some areas; not much is known about the event itself

**Mainland architecture:** usually consists of tall buildings made of steel, concrete, and glass; heavily inspired by the architecture of a pre-Cataclysm metropolis called "New York City"

**The underworld: **also called the Distortion World, not much is known about this place, although it is believed to be the home of spirits and ghost types; dark types can use faint attacks to traverse the underworld for a limited time; no human is known to have successfully traveled through via faint attacks, those that have tried experienced mental regression to that of - on average - a five-year old, not including other mental disorders acquired

**Poke-alarms: **common colloquialism for the whismur line; references the species ability to, as the locals put it, "be loud shitheads"

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I give credit to the word-list at the end of the chapter to L. Lamora and his Game of Champions fic. I made my own because I though it would help my story, as there is a lot of information that I can't cover in each chapter.

All reviews are all welcome. I might just review your stuff too!


	2. Chapter 1: Revelations

AN: Just wanted to point this out, as I hadn't don't this in the previous chapter. In this story Hoenn will be rotated 90 degrees clockwise (I believe). To give an example, Rustboro will be the northern-most city in this story, whereas in the games Rustboro is the western-most city. Likewise, Sootopolis will be in the south rather than the east, and so on. Just wanted to give a heads up, as some people might get confused reading this next chapter.

* * *

_John walked among the wreckage. Mutilated bodies – people and pokemon, alike – were strewn across the grassy floor. The shattered remains of an old truck lay against a large tree. _

_Figuring it was a caravan of some sort, the boy walked closer to the truck's broken husk. He brought his flashlight closer to the vehicle; a red pidgeot with two lanterns hanging off its wing was painted onto the side of the truck. The boy recognized it for what it was: the red crest of Rustboro's royal family. _

_This was no ordinary caravan, then. _

"_Not slavers," John surmised, "but still Mainlanders." _

_That still left a question unanswered: what were they doing here?_

_A noise interrupted John's thoughts. He whipped his body around, shining the flashlight where he thought the sound came from._

"_Who's there?"_

* * *

John stirred quietly as he gently arose from his sleep. He blearily glanced around the room; it was dark, save for one lone torch on the opposite side.

For the life of him, he couldn't remember what had happened last night. And where the hell was he? The cold, stone room was completely alien to him. Upon further inspection, the room wasn't even made of stone; rather, it looked like it was carved out of a mountainside.

A drip of cold water landed on John, knocking him out of his reverie. He looked up at the source – a small stalactite poked its way from the ceiling. Another drip fell down, splashing next to John's feet. He was definitely in a cave of some sort, the boy figured.

The boy stood up, and immediately reeled from a headache on the left side of his skull. How he had not noticed it before, John would never know. The pain blurred his vision, making it harder to see in the dark room. It squeezed the area behind his eye, pulsing and contracting intensely. Sweat formed and dripped along his blonde hair, running down his face and into his eyes, further blinding him. The agony was too much; John curled into the fetal position hoping it would somehow, someway, wish the pain away. The biting pain began spreading out from his eye, reverberating through his skull, down his neck and –

The pain stopped completely. John breathed heavily and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He didn't know what the hell had caused that, but he didn't want to wait around for the pain to strike again.

He stumbled out of his dank room and into a long corridor that smelled faintly of lavender. Torches similar to the one in the room lined the wall at even intervals. The light was minimal, barely illuminating the floor. John struggled to keep his balance as he walked down the uneven corridor; bad footing and jutting rocks threatened to trip up the boy. The fragrance grew stronger the farther he walked down the hallway, making it harder to breathe.

The hallway made a sudden jut to the left, which opened up into an immense cavern. Stalactites decorated the ceiling, while stalagmites dotted the ground. Torches lined the wall, and a fire lit up the center of the room.

"Good to see you're awake."

John snapped to attention, focusing in on the source of the words. An elderly, haggard woman sat besides the fire, with a wispy misdreavus floating beside her. John reached down towards his belt to retrieve Tenji's apricot from its spot –

\- Only to realize it wasn't there.

He also realized he had been without a shirt this entire time.

On the opposite side of the fire sat John's bag and two apricots. A cold sweat dripped down John's face. He was defenseless and shirtless; if such a worse combination existed, John couldn't think up of it.

"Relax," the old hag said. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Unsurprisingly, this did nothing to assuage John's fears. He stood quietly by the door, scheming a contingency plan. Perhaps, if he was quick enough, he could reach Tenji's apricot before the misdreavus got to him.

The hag sighed in exasperation, frustrated with the lack of cooperation.

"If you want your stuff, just take it," the hag said icily, motioning to his bag. "Put on a shirt while you're at it, too."

The boy hesitated, and then slowly walked towards his bag. He did a cursory search – everything was there, nothing seemed to be missing – and placed the two apricots on his belt.

The hag looked up at him expectantly. "Are you going to put on a shirt?"

John looked into his backpack: nothing. "I don't have an extra one," he confessed.

The misdreavus cackled, and the hag sighed. "Clothing is probably the least of your worries, right now. Tell me," the hag looked up at John expectantly, "do you know what you are doing here?"

Emotions the boy didn't realize he was suppressing burst forth. "Gods! I have no idea, I can't even remember what happened last night!" His wavered with frustration, each word carrying a weight John didn't know they had. Anger welled, and he was on the verge of tears.

"Where am I?" John finally mustered, choking back the tears.

The hag sat quietly, carefully planning each word she was about to say. "You are on Mount Pyre," the hag said slowly, "I found you lying amongst the graves last night."

Mount Pyre. That rang a bell for John. If he recalled correctly - which he had immense trouble doing, as his mind was still stuck in a haze - it was the sacred mountain in the south of Hoenn.

Suddenly, he remembered. The haze on his mind lifted, and the emotions he attempted to suppress burst forth in full force. Rustboro. The royal guard. Princess Li. The demon that dragged him into the void.

John collapsed to the floor, overwhelmed by the flood of memories. It was too much for him to handle, and the floodgates opened; tears freely streamed down his face. Gods, he remembered all too well. Everything had gone perfectly - his plan executed without a hitch - and he finally had the chance to reunite with the princess, his love. But that Gods-damned ghost - for whatever reason - had betrayed its promise. It broke its promise and fucked him over!

Hot anger replaced the streaming tears, and John attempted to stand back up, but couldn't get to his feet. His headache reemerged with renewed vigor, pulsing violently behind his left eye, and the anguished moans were replaced with cries of pain.

The hag rushed by his side, quick to check John's vitals. Everything seemed in order, she noticed after a quick check. She flipped him on to his side in case he needed to vomit, allowing the fire's light to brighten up his face. A glare reflected off of the boy's left eye, catching the elderly woman's attention.

"No," the hag muttered. Were her eyes deceiving her? Certainly the boy wouldn't do such a thing.

She bent over to get a better vantage of the boy's eye. The fire's light flickered off the boy's face once again, and the hag recoiled as her suspicions were confirmed. The misdreavus hissed, backing away from John as he writhed in agony.

John's flailing slowed as the pain subsided. He was sweating profusely now, and his body ached from violently rolling around the rocky floor.

The old hag took advantage of the newfound calm, and grabbed John's forearm. She had one more suspicion she had to confirm.

Basking in the fire's light, a long scar mark made its way up the boy's wrist. The scar was faint, indicating that it was not meant to kill, just to draw a small amount of blood.

She leaped back and pointed an accusing finger at John. Behind her, the misdreavus hissed viciously.

"You damned fool!" She screamed.

John, finally regaining control from the torturous pain, recoiled from shriek. He shot a bewildered look at the hag that questioned her accusation.

"Don't give me that look, you know damned well what you did!" The hag shrieked again. She took a deep breath – she was too old to get this worked up – and attempted to calm herself down. However, she couldn't withhold the immense fury at the stupidity of the young boy before her.

"Tell me," she said, softly this time, "what did you summon? It was a spiritomb, wasn't it?"

John's eyes shot open, confused. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me!" She pointed at the scar running up his arm. "You did not get that from any accidental injury. I know the signs of a blood ritual when I see one."

She grabbed the boy by the hair, pulling his head back. John, surprised by the wiry strength of the old woman, choked in pain. The misdreavus floated towards John's face, hissing.

"What. Did. You. Summon!" The hag stammered through gritted teeth.

John's face sunk, and his voice dropped to a low, bass whisper. He stared bullets at the ground. His voice quivered uncontrollably. "Dusknoir."

The old hag's mouth hung open, sputtering out some nonsense, before deciding it wasn't worth the effort to convey the horrible dread she felt. She muttered something and hobbled over to her stool, mentally debating what she should do next. The boy was doomed, that she was sure of. But, perhaps she could help.

Finally, after much deliberating, she looked up and stared down John. She spoke slowly, each word growing icier than the last. "Tell me everything. Do not," she emphasized, "leave out anything."

John sat up slowly, and started speaking. The words flew effortlessly out of his mouth as he recounted his story. It took him a few minutes to explain his reasoning for his actions, trying to justify them at every opportunity.

"You have to understand, I was desperate. I –" he stopped, considering his next words. "I just wanted to be with her so badly."

The hag shook her head disapprovingly. "I don't know what's worse: your foolishness or your inability to recognize that fact. Why would you think to chase a Mainland girl?"

John stared blankly, and the old hag huffed.

"Did you think you could win her over? Woo her heart?" The hag added mockingly. A twisted smile appeared on her face. "You don't honestly think you could have, do you? They would have killed you - and her - had the Mainlanders found out."

John's face turned dark red with anger, outlining the twisted eye on his face. He crossed his arms indignantly. "I made a promise, and she made a promise, and I keep my fucking promises. Unlike that ghost."

She coughed a hoarse laugh. Foolish and stubborn, the hag surmised. It was no wonder he found himself in such a predicament.

"Ghosts don't play by our rules," the hag retorted as she leaned in closer. "I have one more question to ask you: how did you summon the dusknoir? You mentioned why you did it, but not how."

The boy calmed down and briefly thought over the events. "There's a witch doctor that lives on the mountain north of my town," John began. "I was sitting on a cliff, looking at the walls of Rustboro, when she found me. She said she could help. She said she could get me what I want." John sighed and took a heavy breath. "And I believed her.

"She sold me everything I needed. There was a book that explained the ritual, and some items to go along –"

"What were the items?" The hag asked.

"I don't know," John admitted. "Hell, I don't even remember the name of the book." John looked at the hag expectantly. When he realized she wasn't going to speak, he piped up, asking the question that had been churning inside him.

"I'm gonna be alright, right?"

The hag and the misdreavus burst into horrible, cackling laughter. John's face reddened. Had he said something wrong?

The hag's laughter devolved into a series of hacking coughs, before she finally cleared her throat of the phlegm.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" The hag asked condescendingly. John stared back blankly, and the hag broke into laughter once more. "You aren't kidding. You are as dumb as you look."

She leaned forward as a teacher would to her student. "You made a blood pact with a demon, probably on the condition that you make another blood sacrifice as payment for its guidance. You utterly disregarded that fact – probably thought you could pay it back later, didn't you?" The hag harrumphed with disgust, and hammered her finger down to emphasize her point. "You went behind the demon's back and thought you could get away with it. The demon cursed you for your disrespect. You are, to put simply, utterly fucked."

The hag leaned back in her stool, while the misdreavus continued its haunting cackle.

John shook with dread. Cursed? The hag did nothing to satiate his burning curiosity. He folded his arms, attempting to exude an authoritative aura in an effort to remain in control. He felt anything but in control, however.

"How so?" He asked. He was not convinced the hag's words were true.

The hag beckoned the misdreavus. Using its telekinetic powers, the ghost-type retrieved a hand mirror from somewhere behind the hag and floated it over towards John's hand.

"Take a look for yourself," the hag said as John looked into the mirror.

John froze. His eyes bulged and his body tightened. His grip loosened, dropping the mirror to ground, which shattered upon hitting the ground; the noise it made sounded eerily similar to cackling laughter. He closed his eyes shut, yet it did nothing to remove the image burned into his mind. What he saw could only be described as a manifestation of a child's nightmare, the stuff of horror stories. His left eye was no longer its usual brown color; instead, the eye – cornea and iris - was blood red, with black tendrils creeping outwards on his skin.

"The tendrils will slowly crawl across skin, absorbing you body before, finally, absorbing your soul," the hag explained. "I hope you have gained a better respect for the dead."

"How long?" John croaked, his voice hoarse from the horrifying revelation.

The hag shook her head somberly. "I do not know."

John's head fell into his chest. "Surely there is something that could be done?" He asked pleadingly.

The hag closed her eyes in thought, humming quietly to herself. After a short time, she opened her eyes, and turned to face John, "Give me some time alone, I have much to think about." She waved her hand as if to shoo John away. "I will find you when I'm ready."

* * *

Mount Pyre, the holiest mountain in all of Hoenn, was a beacon to spiritualists and religions. It was said that the mountain was the birthplace of the Hoenn gods of earth and water. How true this was depended on the person asked.

The mountain sat shrouded in the center of the misty Lake Pyre. The saltwater lake was kept swollen all year round; it was, after all, the drainage point for the mountains to the east, where rainfall was plenty. The water from the lake then flowed into a river to the south, before it was dumped into the Sea of Hoenn.

It was quiet in this part of the country. For whatever reason – whether out of respect for the Holy Mountain, or due to the immense danger the pokemon that lived in these parts posed – humanity never caught a foothold in this region of the island. People have tried, numerous times in fact, to conquer the wild lands in these parts; each time, the settlements ended up abandoned. The most recent settlement that tried to establish itself was sacked by the city of Lilycove, a mainlander port city located on a small strip of land to the very south of the island. The settlers that weren't murdered were sold in to slavery, probably withering away in the farmlands bordering Lilycove.

No, it was not pokemon that caused the downfall of settlements - although they certainly contributed; it was the greed of man, in its vain attempt to better the individual, that halted the progress of a better future.

That old settlement lay in ruins directly to the south of Mount Pyre. John currently sat on the west face of the mountain, looking out in the same direction. The mist rising from the lake blocked any possible view he could have, but every now and then, he swore he could make out a few trees in the distance.

He sat quietly, mulling over the words the old hag had spoke to him. He softly touched his left eye. He didn't feel any pain, so that must mean he was fine, right?

The boy sighed. Such thoughts were foolish; they would not help the predicament he was in. While he wasn't entirely convinced the hag's words were true, he knew that he should not take them lightly. What he truly longed for was some company, and preferably not the hag and her cackling misdreavus. He reached for Tenji's apricot and released the shiftry.

The monster coalesced in an explosion of red light. It softly stretched and quietly observed his new surrounding; after all, he had missed most of the ordeal John had recently experienced.

The shiftry took notice of John's red eye, and glanced worriedly at John.

The boy was surprised; Tenji had never been one to express emotion.

A poke distracted John from the thought. He glanced over and caught the monster casting the same worried look at him. Except, John realized the pokemon wasn't worried, he was hungry.

John snorted. "How typical of you," he said as he reached into his bag a grabbed a couple tree saplings from its interior. The monster greedily snatched the saplings and proceeded to devour them in seconds, producing a soft chuckle from John. At least there was some normality to this craziness.

Behind him, the old hag emerged from the Pyre Temple. Her misdreavus floated silently behind her.

"I brought you a shirt," she said as she sat down besides the boy.

John muttered a thanks and put the tunic on. It fit snuggly –perhaps too snuggly – across his chest. He unbuttoned the top couple buttons to release some of the tension.

"It's mine, so it'll probably be a little small for you," the hag said. "But, at least you have a shirt, so we both win." She smiled jokingly, before relaxing into the grass.

Suddenly, she bolted upright, as a thought came to her. "I never introduced myself earlier. My apologies for such rudeness." The old hag extended her hand out. "I'm Phoebe Antari. Sorry we had to meet under such exceptional conditions."

John smiled and accepted Phoebe's handshake. "John Smith. And don't think nothin' of it."

"I'm glad you think that way," Phoebe said, steeling herself for what she had to say next. "You can't stay here much longer."

"What," John said, shocked. He turned to face the old woman, sending an intense glare her way. Phoebe caught the stare, witnessing the boy's blood red eye dilating and contracting violently, and quickly averted her eyes.

"The spirits of the mountain are not pleased with your presence," she said, still greatly unnerved by John's eye. "The thought of someone stuck between worlds is anathema to them. If you stay much longer, they might turn violent."

John sighed, slumping his body toward the ground once again.

Phoebe pitied the boy; he was too young, too naïve to suffer as much as he has. And she knew his suffering would only grow worse as the curse spread. Kicking him off her mountain with probably no where to go? That was just cruel, too, despite her honest reasoning. The hag wracked her brain for something - anything - that could help this boy out.

She closed her eyes, thinking deeply; how could she save him from a fate worse than death?

An idea struck. It was idealistic and it was impossible, but sometimes the impossible work out in the end.

"Get up, child, and walk with me," Phoebe said. "I have an idea." She turned to John, who was still lying on his back, and kicked him in the side.

John bolted upright, and scowled at the old hag, before following her down the mountainside.

"What's the idea?" John called after her, unsuccessfully. The old hag ignored him and faded into the mist. The boy sighed and turned to Tenji, who was preoccupying himself by playing with a root strangling a mossy rock.

The pokemon looked up, annoyed that the boy broke his concentration.

"Let's go," John said, motioning in the direction Phoebe disappeared.

The trio traversed a thin, winding path along the mountainside. Phoebe navigated the harsh terrain with practiced ease, while John struggled behind her. The unruly grasses grew over the path, hiding pitfalls and loose rocks, and made the already hazardous passage even more dangerous. The fog grew thicker the farther down they walked, making it nearly impossible to see ahead; John could barely see five feet in front of him, effectively hiding the path from view. His only salvation was the soft silhouette of Phoebe walking in front.

Behind him, Tenji tripped over a loose rock. John stopped to help his fallen pokemon, only to turn around and see that Phoebe had disappeared from view.

"Gods dammit," muttered John. He swept a loose strand of hair out of his eyes, and – with arms out wide to maintain balance – continued along the treacherous path. John called out for Phoebe as he walked down the path, but to no avail; the thick fog seemed to swallow sight and sound.

"Shit," John hissed. He looked around, searching for any familiar landmarks he had passed. Hadn't he passed that tree before? Didn't he see the large boulder farther up the mountain? His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him, and he was, without a doubt, lost.

He continued walking down what he thought was the right path, although he wasn't entirely sure. The fog began to change, he noticed. Whereas the fog was usually calm and still, this fog had movement to it. Above his head, the fog ominously swirled in a circular pattern. Tenji hissed at something off in the distance, and a feeling of foreboding filled John's gut. There was a sinister presence in the air; he could feel it.

Finally, salvation arrived. A humanoid shadow skulked through the fog off in the distance. John was about to run after it, but a hand shot through the mist and latched into his arm. The boy whipped around, confronting his attacker –

Phoebe. The elderly woman stared intently at John, who returned a confused look back at her. Off in the distance, the humanoid shadow melted into the fog, disappearing from view.

"The spirits are playing tricks on you," the old hag warned. "Do not trust what you see."

The trio resumed their trek; this time John kept within arms reach of Pheobe, not wanting to lose sight of her again. The fog above stopped stirring in the air, returning to its calm, motionless state.

The land's slope gradually leveled out; soon the land grew flat. A small beach arose into view, with small boat rested on its brown, coarse sands. John recalled the shiftry, as the boat did not look big enough to carry three beings.

Phoebe arrived next to the boat and pointed a bony finger towards the water. "Push it in, will you?"

John grunted a response and pushed the boat far enough into the water so that it could float, but close enough so the duo could jump in without getting their feet wet. The old woman hopped in, followed by John, and made a motion to her misdreavus, whom John had not realized had been floating by Phoebe's side the entire time.

With its telekinetic powers, the misdreavus unhooked the paddle from the side of the boat, and began to row out into the lake. Mist rose slowly from the lake, like a ghost rising from the underworld. Behind them, Mount Pyre vanished behind a wall of fog. The fog was an irritant, John noted, as his eyes began to tear. Phoebe, on the otherhand, appeared completely unfazed by the allergenic mist.

An aura of hostile tranquility saturated the air of Lake Pyre. The surface of the water was deceptively calm, but John could feel a dark presence brewing just below the waters.

A few hours passed with nothing but silence.

"I have an idea," the old woman said, simultaneously interrupting John's thoughts and breaking the deafening silence. "It might help you with your situation."

John leaned forward, listening intently. The old hag carried on.

"You made a blood pact with a demon, so it is impossible to remove your curse, However, I've been thinking," Phoebe rested a thoughtful hand on her temple, "perhaps if you destroy the demon that placed the curse, the curse will be destroyed, too."

John carefully mulled over the logic behind her idea. It did make sense, after all. But he did have one question to ask. "How do you know the curse won't just fade away on its own?" The boy asked. "I've heard of other people being cursed by ghosts before. How do you know it ain't just one of those?"

The old hag gave an exasperated sigh. "As I said, you made a blood pact with a ghost. You have literally tied a piece of the ghost's soul to your own. There is no undoing that." Phoebe eyed the boy keenly. "Why do I get the feeling you aren't taking my advice seriously?"

John ignored her, not wanting to hear the hag's condescending words. Instead, he focused on the beach that was appearing through the fog. The boat gradually slowed down until it came to a complete stop just at the shoreline. John got out of the boat and stepped onto the wet sand, while Phoebe stood up and faced the boy.

"You are on the north shore of Lake Pyre. Lilycove is to the south of here. Please, please understand the gravity of the curse," she begged, concern etched into her face. "It will kill you."

John turned, waving away the advice. "Yeah, got it. You haven't stopped sayin' it."

A vein popped on the elder's temple as her rage surged. She quickly calmed down, however, and spoke, although more exasperatedly. "If you won't listen to my words, at least hear this." She stood up and cleared her throat, preparing for what was about to say. "Return to your witch doctor. Gather the items you used last time. Re-summon the dusknoir with the ritual, and _destroy it_."

She heavily emphasized the last two words, smashing her finger into her palm with each syllable. "Maybe – just, maybe – you might save your soul."

With that, the old hag sat down and motioned to the misdreavus. The paddle started stirring, and the boat began moving back into the misty waters of Lake Pyre, before disappearing into the wall of fog.

John watched silently, thinking over what she had said. Was it true? Would his curse truly consume is soul? His heart said no, but his mind said yes, and he didn't know which one he should trust more.

Regardless, what he did know was that he needed to find his way home. Mt. Pyre was in the south of Hoenn, and his village – and the witch doctor – was in the north. Going south for the night was no option; Lilycove was a mainlander city, and he would undoubtedly be killed or enslaved upon entering. The most logical option was to head through the woods due north; however, he had heard that Lilycove slavers had set up a base of operations somewhere near the northern shore of Lake Pyre. Heading blindly in that direction would be dangerous, too.

John sat down on a nearby boulder and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't re-cross Lake Pyre, and following the river to the ocean would bring him too close to Lilycove.

His only apparent option was to head east through the forested mountains, overshooting the slaver camp, and make his way back. Then he could head north.

John nodded his head, confirming his own thoughts. The mountains to the east were dangerous, but heading north or south was guaranteed danger.

The boy stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the best given his situation. Besides, he had heard rumors of a new settlement to the east, one made up of escaped slaves from Lilycove. Perhaps they could provide some help.

Lightening sparked and thunder crackled off in the distance as John walked down the wooded path lining Lake Pyre's shore. A storm was brewing; with it followed torrential rains and hurricane winds. John, of course, was oblivious to this as he headed deeper into the woods.

A short distance away, a man removed a pair of binoculars from his eyes. A large scar ran across his left eye. He had watched the entire exchange between the old hag and the boy, before the woman drifted back into the fog of Lake Pyre. She was a lost cause; the man would not step into the cursed lands of Mount Pyre, for the mountain teems with evil spirits. The boy, however…

The man unhitched a radio from his shoulder strap and called in his companions, talking to them in his native tongue. He had found their next catch.

* * *

**Blood ritual: **a method of summoning a ghost type; considered extremely dangerous and risky as it ties the ghost's soul to that of the performer; terms of the ritual are created by the ghost, and failure to uphold those terms is nearly suicidal and not recommended; while most towns and cities have no written law against it, being caught performing one is often punished with death

**Witch doctor: **a person that uses alternative medicines and, occasionally, supernatural means for treatment of various illnesses or conditions; contrary to their name, some practicing witch doctors are the most trusted medical professionals in their towns - likewise, some are scams and not to be trusted

**Pyre temple: **the sacred temple at the top of Mount Pyre, although the entrance looks more akin to a cave opening; contrary to its name, it is not actually a place of worship - rather, it houses the Gravekeeper of Mount Pyre; it is rumored that the temple spreads throughout the interior of the Holy Mountain

**The Gravekeeper: **term used to describe the position of looking after and maintaining the sacred Mount Pyre; this position has been held by the Antari family for many generations

**A Ghost's curse: **sometimes the more malicious ghost types place curses on those that have wronged the spirit; while symptoms may vary, the curse often leaves the victim feeling extremely ill, although they are rarely ever fatal; there is a story of a curse that devours the very soul of its victim, however, no incident of such a curse has ever been reported

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading, leave a review!


	3. Chapter 2: Hunted

AN: Wow, it has been a long, long time, hasn't it? I would like to apologize for taking such a long break between chapters; my life has been very busy, and while I have been working on it, I wasn't working on it at an efficient pace. However, the distractions in my life should, for the most part, be gone. I hope to update more regularly at this point; my goal is at once a month.

As a side note, I did go back and change some of the first chapters. Check out chapter 1 again if you see something that confuses you, namely the inclusion of the term, think-scan.

I introduce a lot of new stuff in this chapter; if you have any questions, chances are I will be answering those in the following chapter. That's just how I work. Sorry.

I'd also like to thank those that reviewed, favorited, and/or followed the story. You guys are awesome and cool.

* * *

_The flashlight landed on a lone girl, who seemed to be huddling behind a tree. John hovered his hand over his apricot, preparing for an attack._

_But an attack never came. The girl remained whimpering, occasionally brushing a loose strand of black hair out of her face._

_John remained still, unsure of what to do. On one hand, she was a Mainlander, and you _never_ help Mainlanders. But on the other hand - _

_"Do you speak English?" John asked calmly._

_The girl stopped whimpering for a moment, and tilted her head slightly, perhaps in confusion._

_"Do you speak English?" John asked again, calmly._

_Finally, the girl found her courage to speak. "What do you want?" She asked in broken English, he Mainland accent heard clearly through her words._

_The blonde-haired boy stood __quietly, unsure of what to say. "I'm here to help." He said softly, before extending a hand forward._

* * *

The rain continued to arrive in sheets, as it had the day before. The grassy floors of the forests transformed into muddy bogs overnight, while the dirt trails that traversed the mountains grew wet and unstable, turning the normally reliable paths into dangerous flood plains. The sounds of pokemon could usually be heard within these dense woods, but the rain washed out these creatures, forcing them into their caves and burrows, and created a silence that was almost apocalyptic.

Deep in a wooded area nestled between two mountains, John bolted from tree to tree in a fruitless attempt to avoid the rainfall. Tenji followed the boy a short distance away, struggling to keep up. The pokemon hissed at the grayed sky, hoping it would scare away the rain. Much to his chagrin, Mother Nature refused to relent, continuing its ruthless storm.

The duo had been travelling for hours straight now, ducking under trees, overhangs – really anything they could - as long as it kept them dry. They waded through the overflowing rivers and ponds, desperately looking for a shelter of any kind. The idea had been to walk through the night and reach the new settlement by morning of the next day, but the inclement weather had put an immediate halt to that plan. Finding a shelter of some sort had become the number one priority.

At last, John saw a tree with a canopy thick enough to block most of the incoming rain. He found a spot that was relatively dry and sat down to catch his breath. His soaking clothes plopped on the ground, leaking water that was previously saturated into the threads. Tenji took a seat next to him, and immediately began to play with the small shoots growing off his wrists. In a few more days, they would grow into deadly razor leaves.

Taking a look around, the boy saw the entirety of the dreary landscape. The rain saturated the ground, making everything cold and wet to touch. The boy was freezing; his wet clothes chilled him to the bone, and the fear of hypothermia loomed in the back of his mind.

John nudged the shivering pokemon beside him and nodded upwards. "Wanna climb up that tree? See if you can find a cave or somethin'?" The boy reached into his backpack and held out a sapling, hoping it would entice the pokemon into obliging. The shiftry glared at him before greedily devouring it and ascended the tree.

With a sigh, the boy rested against the tree; it was dry, compared to his clothes, and was fairly comfortable to lean against. The momentary lull was the perfect opportunity to recall the previous day's events. As he remembered, everything had gone so wrong, so quickly.

The storm was bad, but it was the least of his worries. About two hours ago – or was it three? He couldn't remember - John caught the glimpse of three humans deep within the woods. It was hard to see through dense trees and blinding rain, but he was almost certain they were armed, too. Not with just pokemon: the boy was certain he saw the barrel of a rifle stick out behind a man's backpack.

Again, he was unsure, but for all he knew, they could have been slavers. He decided to play it safe and get the hell out if there. The duo had spent the last couple of hours running since then, and he was fairly confident they were safe at the moment.

The boy yawned; he felt utterly exhausted, and he was starving to boot. John silently cursed the old hag for never offering food. He briefly considered the merits of returning to the oran bush they had passed some distance away. If he recalled correctly, it wasn't that far.

His stomach growled loudly. It had been decided; food first, then shelter.

"Tenji!" The boy yelled up toward the tree. The pokemon stuck its through the leaves, its yellow eyes glowing through the canopy. "Food!" John motioned with his hand in the direction the oran bush was in.

The shiftry looked curiously, then growled unintelligibly and returned to his post above the tree line.

JohnThe boy shrugged, unsure of what the shiftry was talking about, and made his way back into the trees.

It had taken the boy a good ten minutes to find the oran bush. More than once he thought he had gone in circles as he kept finding tracks in the mud. At first, he thought they were his own, but upon closer inspection, the footsteps looked more animal than human. A shiver shot down his spine, and it wasn't because of the cold rain; John genuinely felt something was wrong. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see –

Nothing. No movement, no sound. Just rain. Yet, the shiver ran up his spine again. John focused his mind and carried on.

When he found the oran bush, the bad notions quickly left his thoughts as hunger became the dominating sensation. The berries were perfectly ripe; they were a dark orange in color and swollen with delicious juices, making them perfect specimens. John greedily grabbed one of the fruits and bit into it. He leaned back as the warmth of the fruit travelled through him, giving heat and comfort to his body, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Another shiver ran down John's spine, except the sensation felt stronger this time. The boy turned around, looking out into the dense forest. The rain was still coming down in droves, making it difficult to see, but the boy noticed the tiniest of movement in the tall grasses before him.

The facts were undeniable; something was following him.

He quickly stuffed as many oran berries as he could into his backpack, and began to briskly walk back in the direction he came from. The grasses shifted ever so slightly, following the boy as he moved, but always keeping at a distance. The sensation in his spine traveled up into his mind, creating a panicky notion, screaming at the boy to run.

A mental battle ensued; John attempted to steel his mind and drive out the thought, but the panicky notion grew stronger with each passing second. Finally, the notion won out, and the blonde-haired boy broke into a light jog.

Whatever was following him began to move faster, matching the boy's pace. A nervous tick flashed in John's mind, and he started to run faster. This game continued until John was running at a full sprint. The thing surpassed the boy, darting through rocks and trees at a blinding speed. Hints of black fur streaked through the dense grasses ahead of John, before the thing turned around and headed straight for him.

The beast had closed the gap in milliseconds, before turning sideways and sliding to a full stop, while simultaneously ducking its body. John had no time to stop or slow down; he tripped over the beast, toppling head over feet into the mud. He landed on his back, dazed, and tried to stand up, but a meaty paw held him to the ground.

The large canine leaned its head up, howling into the pouring rain. John immediately recognized the pokemon; it was a mightyena, and an impressive specimen of one at that.

The beast returned its gaze to the cowering boy, a soft growl escaping from its lips. It was large for its species; its massive frame and toned muscles were a great contrast to the usually skinny and malnourished mightyenas that inhabited the lands around John's village.

The boy recoiled as the hound pushed its slimy nose into his face, trying his best to ignore the stench of the stinking dog breath. Remaining still was difficult and went against every fiber of his being, but he knew that the slightest movement would scare the hound into attacking him. He had seen a victim of a mightyena attack before; their bites were powerful, capable of crushing bones.

John's mind raced, knowing that if he didn't act soon, his fate would be a terrible one. The mightyena's legs were vulnerable, but that would leave his face exposed. He could try to kick or punch the hound's soft underbelly, but its paw was planted firmly on his chest, restricting movement.

Think, Gods damn it! John wracked his brain for something – anything – that could help. He vaguely recalled that a mightyena's jaw had little force opening. Perhaps if he could slowly loosen his arm, he might be able to reach and grab the beast's –

It didn't matter. The boy's thoughts were interrupted as a flying thing swung down from the trees, slamming into the surprised hound, and sending it flying across the forest floor. He looked up to see Tenji standing victoriously, tightly gripping the vine he swung down from.

The small victory was short-lived as the mightyena quickly rebounded, snarling savagely at the new opponent. It barked a challenge and paced back and forth, its tail violently whipping between its legs.

The shiftry did not hesitate to answer; it darted forward, claws out, only to duck and slide along the mud as the mightyena leaped up to attack. The hound gracefully landed on the ground, while Tenji quickly caught his footing. Both turned to face off once more.

This time, the mightyena struck first, fangs flared out as it charge the wooded creature. The shiftry juked to the side, barely missing the sharp fangs as they clamped down, and countered, slashing its claws upward. The hound yelped in pain but quickly recovered. It leaned forward and kicked its hind legs, knocking the shiftry back a couple of steps.

Tenji opted for a different tactic this time, going for a feint towards hounds face, before sweeping his legs under the mightyena. The mightyena, however, saw through the bluff, jumping over the shiftry's legs and countered with a headbut, again knocking Tenji back a few feet. Rather than face off with his opponent, the shiftry kicked up some mud into the mightyena's face, temporarily blinding it, and retreated closer to John.

Hatred flashed brightly in each one's eyes. John felt Tenji's thoughts poke into the back of his mind, searching his mind for help against this powerful foe.

John hesitated, struggling to stammer out a command. Razor leaves were out of the question. That left few options, other than slashing and tackling, which had already proven somewhat ineffective. "Crap," the boy hissed. Razor leaves were his trump card, his ace in the hole for tough situations such as this. He mentally chided himself for never taking the time to improve Tenji's battling capabilities beyond one attack.

A loud bark echoed through the rain, and the mightyena lashed out again, feigning an attack to the left, before rushing right and biting into the shiftry's shoulder. The wooded pokemon emitted a high-pitched screech - one John recognized as pain - and started flailing violently, attempting to shake the hound off.

But this time, the hound quickly overpowered the shiftry; no amount of slashing would deter the mightyena. The beast pushed forwards, slamming Tenji into a tree, effectively pinning him.

"Shit, shit, shit!" John's mind raced as he watched Tenji struggle. Mental cogs stalled and panic and chaos reigned free. One lone idea popped into the boy's head. "Faint attack!" he screamed.

A void opened up behind the shiftry, to which the hound released Tenji's shoulder and recoiled in surprise at the appearance of the hole. A breath escaped John's lips before he choked in disbelief and his heart dropped into his stomach. The sudden surprise did nothing to deter the mightyena; rather, the beast reached back into the void and grabbed the shiftry by a wooded arm, before yanking the pokemon out of the void and heaving it onto the soaked ground like a puppet.

This was no wild pokemon. The thought had crossed John's mind earlier, but now he had undeniable proof; no untrained mightyena could attack with such speed and bloodlust as this one had. For once, the boy actually feared for his pokemon's life. John's body shook with dread.

Tenji slowly made his way to his knees, before turning to face the mightyena. Drops of blood dripped from the shiftry's shoulder, and the fear of life blazed brightly in his beady, yellow eyes. The beast howled into the rain, before descending upon the downed pokemon, looking to claim victory once and for all -

But a loud crack resounded through the air, interrupting the pokemon's charge. A thing whizzed through the leaves and landed in the ground, spraying mud and water into the air. The mightyena ran back, toward the source of the noise, violently wagging its tail.

Another crack was heard, and John recognized it for what it was: a gunshot. Tenji had enough presence of mind left to get back to his feet and hobble over to the blonde-haired boy's position.

A chorus of voices screamed out from behind the bushes, followed by three men in forest camouflage. Two were armed with machetes, while a third wielded a rifle. The rifleman kept the barrel trained on the duo with practiced discipline while dramatically pulling the bolt back. The men created a perimeter around the duo, blocking any chance of escape. The mightyena hung back, wagging its tail at the sight of its masters.

John's heart skipped a beat; these men were slavers, and they were probably the same ones he saw the other day. They must have been tracking him the whole time! The boy hissed at the realization; Gods damn it, he had been too careless!

He felt the dark-type reach his mind out, begging for a plan of action. The boy frowned; he had an idea. He didn't like it – in fact, he specifically remembered promising himself he would never do it again - but what choice did he have?

"Wait for my signal," John whispered to Tenji. Verbal cues were not an option; the mightyena was too fast, and could probably descend upon them before either of them could make a move. Fortunately, shiftrys have telepathy, a fact John thanked the Gods for. The boy conjured up an image of a faint attack.

The shiftry waited a second, processing the thought, before nodding an affirmation. The boy exhaled a short breath and waited patiently.

The rifleman kept his gun trained on the two, while the two armed with machetes slowly closed in on their flanks. Something about the man distracted John's attention; the boy couldn't help but notice a large scar running through the man's left eye. He instinctively reached up and touched his own scarred eye, almost feeling a connection to this man's injury.

A sharp jab to the stomach knocked John out of his reverie. He looked down and saw Tenji glaring furiously at him, and then noticed the two men armed with machetes quickly closing in on them.

"Now!" John yelled, diving into the shiftry and falling toward the ground. A gunshot rang out, but it was too late; both John and Tenji fell into the faint attack, disappearing from view.

The underworld spit the duo out some distance away. Looking up, John saw the slavers frantic over the vanishing act they pulled. The boy pulled out an apricot and recalled Tenji, praying the rain would drown out the sound of the recall, and then rolled around in the mud, hoping it would mask his scent from the mightyena.

He waited.

Some time passed – he hadn't a clue how long, but the rain had slowed down considerably – before the boy deemed it safe to move. John slowly stood up and leaned against the nearest tree; he was safe, for now.

* * *

The next day was cold. Frost littered the ground of the quiet forest, despite it being nearly midday. However, this was normal for the eastern mountains of Hoenn, especially during early December. While it rarely ever snowed, temperatures certainly dropped enough to be considered cold.

John and Tenji silently stumbled through the icy ground, stumbling through the trees. It had been a long night, one with little sleep. They had found a cave, but it was merely a shelter; all the comforts of a home were nowhere to be found. Of course, this was to be expected, as the incident with the slavers still weighed heavily on their minds.

Tenji's injuries did not appear to be as bad as they looked, as they were merely superficial. The bite wound on his shoulder was already scabbing over, and the limp he walked with seemed to have disappeared over the night. John had scrubbed the wound as best he could, hoping to avoid infection. Overall, the boy wasn't too worried about the shiftry's health; he surmised that there would be a doctor at the settlement to look over Tenji.

The walk was quiet and uneventful. John paused for a moment to adjust the bandana over his eye.

The bandana was a new addition to his outfit, one that he added earlier that morning. He decided that he didn't want to parade his eye out, as he wasn't sure how people would react. He noticed Phoebe always averted her eyes when he made eye contact with her, which is what gave him the idea to cover it up in the first place. Although, the slavers the other day didn't so much as flinch at the sight of him, but John was certain it was because he never made direct eye contact with them. Regardless, he didn't want to find out how people would react, so the bandana stayed on.

It was weird, though. The bandana didn't reduce his depth perception at all. In fact, his eyesight was perfect, as if the bandana wasn't covering anything. If John were to cover his right eye, he could still see clearly out of his left eye.

John ran through theories and ideas concerning the nature of his eye as he walked. Eventually, he chalked it up as a side effect of the curse. He couldn't help but wonder, though: what else had the curse done to his body?

His thoughts ran back to what Phoebe had said, but John quickly dismissed them; regardless if they were true – which he still wasn't convinced of, as the headache attacks had seemed to completely stop – he needed positivity; such words would not help his current predicament.

Find the settlement. Get food, shelter, and perhaps medical attention. Those were his current goals, and John intended to spend all of his energy working to achieve them.

The duo continued their trek through the forest, traversing swampy landfills and flooded grasslands. It was difficult and dangerous, but they managed to pass through without harm. It helped that the wild pokemon were nowhere to be seen, opting to stay in their shelters than traverse the sopping valley floor.

A couple hours passed with little change in the scenery. Every now and then, John felt a presence pass the back of his mind. At first, he thought nothing of it, but the feeling was growing stronger. It wasn't the same of the shivering sensation he felt the other day; this feeling felt more like a probing in the back of his mind, like think-scan.

"That you?" John asked Tenji; it wasn't uncommon for the shiftry to read his mind every now and then.

But Tenji hissed and shook his head; he too had felt the sensation.

"Gods," muttered John. If it wasn't Tenji, then it had to be a psychic roaming the area, most likely gardevoir. If John remembered correctly, gardevoir employed a strategy similar to that of think-scanners when hunting, where they find a target by projecting their thoughts and proceed to hunt it down. There was one major difference; gardevoir would usually hunt in a group of three or four. They telepathically exchange information to triangulate the location of the target, upon which they surround it and kill it.

The presence grew stronger in the back of John's mind, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but the events of the last few days taught him to err on the side of caution. The boy sent a cautious glance toward the shifty. "Keep an eye out for pokemon," he said. "I think there might be a psychic out there."

The duo trekked through the forest, hiking up winding hills that led to drier ground. The rainwater seemed to have pooled at the bottom of the valleys, so the mountainsides made for easier walking. Every now and then, the two would stop at some noise coming from the side, but more often than not, it was a zigzagoon playing in its nest.

A noise caught the duo's attention. A shiver shot violently up John's sides as he shushed Tenji, not wanting the wooded pokemon to attract the attention of whatever was out there. Somewhere in the woods, leaves crunched under the weight of heavy feet. He wrinkled his forehead in confusion; those footsteps were too loud to be gardevoir, as the psychics were not that heavy. Whatever it was, it had psychic capabilities.

Crouching low, John tiptoed forward with Tenji silently following behind. He could hear the leaves crunching just beyond a large pine tree in front of him.

He needed a plan. Thoughts exploded in his mind, only to be extinguished as the footsteps started to move around the pine tree. It was too late to strategize; John needed to act now.

"Tenji, git' it!" John shouted, finger pointing in the direction of the footsteps.

The shiftry barreled through the trees at a blinding speed, tackling whatever lay beyond it with a muffled thump. John shortly followed behind.

What he saw was not what he expected. On the ground was not a gradevoir, John astutely observed; rather, a man in a camouflaged hoodie lay pinned under Tenji, and a ralts sat dazed off to the side.

John paused at the sight, debating what to do next, but the hooded man interrupted his thoughts.

"I yield, I yield!" He shouted, putting his hands in the air. Tenji hissed at the man, pressing a wicked nail dangerously close to his neck. The man squirmed. "Call back yer' damned wood devil; you can have what you want!"

A thought crossed John's mind; this man was not an enemy. At least, he didn't seem like one.

"Back off him, Tenji."

The shiftry shot John a confused glance, but obeyed. The hooded man quickly leaped up and scooped the fallen ralts into his arm. Warily, he hovered his hand over an apricot on his belt, not daring to touch it.

He was a big man, John noticed. The hoodie's sleeves tightly outlined the man's bulging muscles and the hood shrouded most of his face, but his blue eyes shone brightly through the shadows. He was intimidating, to say the least. But, he also radiated an aura of concern and caring. Perhaps it was in the way he cradled the ralts in his arms.

An awkward silence ensued as the two stared off, neither wanting to move nor speak. Even Tenji stood to the side, quiet.

"So," John began awkwardly, trying to break the silence. "Sorry about –" he made a motion with his hands "- all that."

The man cocked his head, confused. His hand still hovered over the apricot. "You're not gonna mug me?"

John's eyes widened at that. "No! No, not at all. I thought you were a slaver or a pokemon or somethin'." He tried to force a smile, but it came off as creepy rather than innocent. "Just lookin' out for myself, y'unno?"

The hooded man relaxed slightly, his shoulders slumping into a less threatening position. His eyes still bore holes into John's skull, though. "Gods, I thought you were a thief or somethin'." He wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead before taking a better look at John. "Though on second thought, ya' really don't look the part." He stuck his hand out. "Matt Parker, by the way."

A wave of relief washed over John as he accepted the handshake. "John Smith. Good to meet you."

"Well then," Matt sighed, returning his hands to his hips, "what brings you to this shithole?"

"Well, I'm heading north to Verdanturf, but kind of lost my way."

Matt cocked an eyebrow but otherwise kept his stoic composure. "You're really going outta your way in the first place. If you was headin' to Verdanturf, you wouldn't even be in these woods."

A soft chuckle escaped from John's lips. "Yeah, well, I heard of the slaver camp by Lake Pyre, so I took a detour." The man gave an understanding nod. "Plus," John added, "I heard there was a settlement somewhere out here."

An agitated groan came from the man. "Of course you did."

'What?"

"It's just," the man stammered, "we got enough people comin' in already. I don't know if we can take more."

John's eyes softened as he he clasped his hands together, attempting to paint the perfect picture of innocence. "Please, sir. I'm cold and hungry, and I think my shiftry could use some medical attention." The boy held the older man's gaze for as long as he could, hoping it would make his plight sound more convincing. "Like I said, I only plan on passing through," he added.

Another sigh escaped the man's lips, and silent curse was muttered soon after. "Well," He began, "I'd feel like a huge fuckin' asshole if I just left you out here. You got me in a real cononderum." He placed a hand on his hip, deep in thought, before motioning for John to come forward. "You seem trustworthy, I guess. Follow me. I'll take you there."

With that, Matt turned around and began to walk away. John and Tenji quickly caught up, matching Matt's stride.

"By the way," Matt said, " you can't really give good puppy-eyes with a fucking shiftry standin' behind you."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"Watch yourself," Matt said, pointing a finger threateningly. He stopped and faced John, towering over him. "I don't know you. I don't have to help you. Don't give me a reason not to."

"Sorry," the boy mumbled as Matt briskly turned and walked away. Apparently humor was not this man's thing. With that in mind, John quickly jogged to catch up with Matt, who had made some considerable distance.

"This place got a name?" John asked, struggling to keep up with Matt's brisk pace.

"Not yet, we're still trying to set everything up. The problem is that new people keep coming in, and we gotta make room for 'em. And there're those reports of a slaver camp north of Lake Pyre, so we really don't want to take in any new people cus' it might attract their attention." The man cast a sour look at John.

"Well, as I said, I don't plan on staying too long," John replied, trying his best to ignore Matt's stink eye.

Matt shook his head. "You're honestly not the worst person to have; you gotta pokemon with you, and well-trained at that. The problem we got is all these new people comin' in withouta pokemon or havin' never trained one." Matt knocked his hood back, revealing a shiny, bald head, and turned to face John. "If there's an attack, they just become a burden rather than helpful."

He hissed an exasperated sigh and ran a hand over his hairless head. "They'll be one, too."

"I thought slaving runs have been down in this area?" If John recalled correctly, raids had been down drastically in the southern part of Hoenn. Most of the attacks had come from the North, usually from Rustboro slaving companies. The reason for the decrease in raids was unknown, but the boy figured that Matt had a better understanding of the situation.

"Not a slavin' raid, an actual all-out assault on the settlement." Matt leaned in, his voice lowering to a hushed whisper, as if the mere mention of the slavers would summon them. "They've been performin' routine patrols through these woods for the last couple a weeks or so. Never catchin' anyone, but only scoutin'."

John stared blankly, before a sudden thought came to him. Suddenly, seeking out this settlement seemed like a bad idea. A slight shiver ran down the boy's spine. "You think the slaver's are looking for your settlement?"

"It means them slavers _are_ lookin' for our settlement." He stopped for a second, shifting the weight of the ralts to a more comfortable position. "They're stoppin' their raids cus' they're lookin' for us. They know we're out here. And I don't think we're prepared for 'em if they attack."

That explained John's run-in with the slaver's the other day. "Why would they wanna attack you guys?"

A hint of anger flashed across Matt's eyes. He turned to face John. "'Kay, here's the thing you gotta know 'bout this place; it's all made up of slaves. Like, almost exclusively former slaves. The Mainlanders probably see that as a slight against them or something', I dunno. Anyways, I want ta' do somethin' 'bout it, but the man in charge doesn't."

"I honestly don't see how fighting the Mainlanders is a good idea," John said. "I mean, they'd probably have more guns and trainers than you guys, so I don't see how you could win."

"Well, there's another reason why, they'd wanna attack us." John cocked his head curiously. Matt took a deep breath. "The General runs this place," the bald man said.

The boy stopped, a look of shocked awe and confusion plastered on his face. "Holy shit," was all he managed to stammer out. John shook his head, erasing the trance he was in. "_The General_ runs this place?"

The uneasiness in John's gut was replaced with awed shock. The General was a familiar name to almost everybody in Hoenn, Mainlanders included. He was no ordinary man, as he was as much of a celebrity as one could be in post-Cataclysm Hoenn. Rumors of this man constituted only half of his mythos. The other half consisted of what was known, and those were by far more impressive than any story could be.

Matt chuckled at John's sudden change in expression. "Thought you'd react that way. Most people do. And rightfully so, he's done some great things. The whole idea of the settlement was his, ya' know."

The thought of seeing the General left John in a state of awe. "I can see why they'd want you all dead." And it made sense to John; the General was the boogeyman to Mainlanders as much as he was a hero to Hoenn natives.

Matt nodded. "That's probably part of the reason, too, but he refuses to see it that way."

The boy nodded, too much in awe to actually pay attention to what Matt had said. "So you must be a member of Rayquaza's Wind?" John said, forcing himself to stumble through the name of the famed freedom fighter group.

The smile faded from Matt's face, morphing into something more uncomfortable. The man's eyes drifted toward the ground. "Well, I was at one point. Technically, we've disbanded, although a lot of former members still hang 'round."

John cocked his head. "What? You guys were, like, the sole hope for a lotta' people in Hoenn."

"Well," Matt said, shrugging his shoulders, "the General wanted ta' disband. He had his reasons, I guess. It was his call, and nobody argued with him, but lots'a people disergreed."

"Including you?"

The bald man nodded his head. "We were doin' real good stuff for the people of Hoenn." He sighed. "If I could, I'd like ta' restart the group or something'. Bring back the fight to the Mainlanders."

The blonde-haired boy nodded in agreement. "I can see where you're comin' from. I know a lotta people at home looked up to you guys."

"It was something I was proud ta' be a part of." A glint of anger hinted in Matt's eyes, before it exploded in a surge of emotion. "Gods dammit!" A hand swatted an unfortunate branch, snapping it effortlessly. "Do you know how much good we could have done? For once, the Mainlanders actually feared us! What the hell're we supposed to do now? Let them bully us forever? Let them destroy our lives? Our freedom?"

Some pidgey hurried out of their nests, distraught by the commotion beneath them. The tension remained thick in the air a couple seconds longer, before Matt blew a long breath of air up towards his face. The man shuffled the ralts - which was clearly agitated by its master's sudden change in temper - into a more comfortable position.

"Sorry 'bout that," the man said quietly. "I just really, _really, _hate Mainlanders. They're all scum. They get me fuckin' worked up thinking' bout them."

"They're not all bad," John dissented, immediately thinking of Princess Li.

The bald man whipped around towards the boy, temper spiking once again. "_All of them_," he hissed. "The fuck you know about them anyways?"

"I'm just saying," John said, wiping the spit off his face, "there can be good people in a bad group and bad people in a good group."

Matt harrumphed, with a hint of a growl reverberating from his throat. "You fancy yourself a philosophier or sumthin'?"

No more was said, as the tension in the air was still simmering. John remained quiet, choosing to ease out the pressure cooker that was Matt Parker, lest he explode again. The forest seemingly came back to life in the silence; pokemon cries filled the air again, and the sound of a river could be heard off in the distance.

John heard a soft sigh from beside him, and he cast a glance toward Matt.

"Sorry about that," the bald man muttered. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, before exhaling another sigh. "I have no excuse for snappin' at you."

"Don't worry about it," John said. A thought had weighed on his mind, though, one that he was curious about. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"What's the General like?" Back in Verdanturf, the elders would share bedtime stories to the children. One such story was about the General, where he freed a group of slaves heading to Slateport. They said his legendary altaria rained dragon's fire onto the slavers', that way, those that survived would feel the burn of their actions forever.

"Well," Matt began, "he was the most incredible man I have ever met. He'd always put other's before him. He always dreamed of a free Hoenn, one with no slaves and one without Mainlander rule." The man stared off toward the sky, eyes glazed as he reminisced. He took a second to wipe his eyes dry before continuing. "But, something changed. Couldn't say for sure what happened, but 'round five or so years ago, he just started losin' hope." Matt sighed before clearing his throat. "No, scratch that, he started losin' desire. He just stopped wanting ta' fight or somethin'. No one really knows for sure, though, except him."

"Did you know him personally?"

Matt laughed hard, a few tears rolling down his cheeks, before he recollected himself. "He's a good friend of mine! He's saved my life in more ways then one could imagine." He wiped an errant tear from his face. "Sorry, I have a hard to time thinkin' 'bout him. It's hard for you ta' understand, but he really has changed a lot in the last few years. Watchin' a friend change before your eyes, it's - "Matt made a motion with hose hands, trying to think of the right word to say." - it's soul-crushing."

John sent a slight glance Tenji's way, before nodding in appreciation at what Matt had said. "People change; I think you'll learn to appreciate him for who he is."

Matt gave John a weird look, before casting a glance at the shiftry, too. "I take it you're speakin' from experience?"

The boy nodded, at which point Tenji interjected by loudly hissing at both of them. John laughed a bit. "Hey, we're passed that point, nothing to get upset about!"

The shiftry growled to himself again, before wandering off into some bushes. John waved him away, and the group walked in silence.

* * *

It had been about an hour since they met, and casual conversation had run its ground. Quiet pervaded as the group walked through the forest; Matt and his ralts led, while John and Tenji followed close behind.

Yet, John's thoughts were anything but quiet. His mind wandered back to that fateful night which seemed so long ago. How long had it been, exactly? Three days? To John, it felt like an eternity.

The scene flashed before his eyes vividly. The boy could see the dusknoir's evil, red eye shining through the supernatural void of the underworld. Phoebe's warning regarding the curse rang in his ears, and John instinctively touched the bandana wrapped around his eye.

He tried to change his thoughts: his mind instantly going to the princess. Of course, he couldn't forget about the princess. He could picture her image perfectly from memory: deep, brown eyes framed by her flowing, black hair touching upon her soft, glowing olive skin. Oh, how he longed to be with her again. The boy relaxed as he continued remembering happier times, ones spent with her.

Besides John walked Tenji. As with the others, the shiftry was stuck in his own thoughts. He would look at the trees, watch the birds fly and caw and do whatever birds do. Tenji extended his thoughts – what did the humans call it, think-scan? – and read the minds of the birds.

Naturally, the birds' thoughts were uninteresting. It was menial, instinctive stuff, such as eating, sleeping, and shitting. Tenji hissed, annoyed with the lack of noteworthy information, and focused his attention elsewhere.

The pokemon turned to John, who appeared to currently be walking in a trance. Tenji extended his thoughts outward, hoping to see what his trainer was thinking of.

The image was cloudy and difficult to see; this was not an unusual occurrence for Tenji. At least, not anymore. There was a time when the pokemon could read his trainer's thoughts vividly, perfectly capturing the images that ran through his mind. Now, ever since that meeting with the ghost, John's thoughts were murky and indecipherable. Almost. The thoughts were not impossible to read; it was as if a dirtied window sat between Tenji and the boys mind. The shiftry wasn't exactly sure what had happened to his trainer, but he had been corrupted somehow, someway.

The image focused after a few seconds. The pokemon could make out a humanoid figure, although the finer details were still blurry. A few more seconds passed, revealing long black hair glowing in the artificial light of the thoughtscape.

Oh, _her_. Tenji hissed; he recognized that human female. It was the same one John had fantasized about before. It wasn't the ghost that had corrupted his trainer's mind, the shiftry reasoned. It was that girl. Something about her had changed him.

John's head twitched, and he shook himself out of his trance. The pokemon took that as the cue to stop reading his thoughts, for now.

Matt Parker walked slightly ahead of John and Tenji. As with the others, he too was bound by his own thoughts. His mind wandered as he hiked through the forest, yet his attention always returned to John. The larger man shuddered; there was something off about that boy, but he couldn't put a finger to what it was.

A quiet murmur broke his reverie. Matt turned to face Mara, the young ralts that he was cradling in his arms. She had been feeling anxious about an hour into their thick-scan runs through the forest. Whether it was related or purely coincidental, Mara's anxiousness coincided with meeting up the John and his shiftry.

He cooed softly, patting a calloused hand along the pokemon's pink horns. It was her favorite spot to be pet, after all. Matt wasn't sure why it was, but he assumed it was related to the horn's susceptibility to others' emotions and moods. Perhaps the horn was just a sensitive spot.

His mind drifted back to John and his strangeness, and Matt soon found himself staring to the boy's bandana covering his eye. Yes, that was it. It was the bandana that unnerved Matt so much. Or perhaps, the man mused, it was what lay under the bandana. A strange sensation washed over the bald man, and he forced himself to break his concentration away from the bandana.

Regardless, something was off about the boy, and Matt couldn't help but feel a sense of dread and despair while in his company.

Such was the nature of thoughts and the mind. The group walked in silence, following the trees that were unknown to Tenji and John, yet well travelled by Matt. A couple hours passed, and they passed into a section of the forest that seemed more open than other parts.

Matt stopped, holding a steady hand up with his palm facing forward. Slowly, he turned with a big grin on his face, and dramatically swept his arm in front of him. "Welcome," he said giddily, "to my little slice of heaven."

John squinted his eyes, scanning the area before him.

He saw nothing.

The area before him looked no different than any other section of the forest. Tall, leafy trees stretched open towards the sky, and small bushes and ferns grew at their bases. There was a large river running through the land, perhaps big enough for a small boat, but other than that, there was nothing unusual about the forest before him.

"I don't see anything," John muttered, still squinting his eyes. A slight shiver ran down the boy's neck, and he knew that there was something out there, watching them. "I don't like this," he added.

"You're in no danger." Matt rested a soft hand on John's shoulder and pointed to a tree. "Look there, about halfway up its trunk."

Following Matt's hand, John looked up toward the tree. "I still don't see anything – wait," he stopped. Squinting again, John looked back at the tree, closely eyeing the shape he spotted. "Is that a – _hole_ in the tree?"

Movement in his peripheral caught John's attention. He swiftly turned his head to see a lone man standing on thin air. No, not thin air, John realized. A _crosswalk_. One that connected to the tree he previously looked at!

More appeared. John stood in awe as people seemingly crawled out from the trees, like grovyles emerging from their nests.

"Holy shit," John said flatly.

"That's right," Matt responded with a big grin on his face. "Wasn't safe to build on the trees or build under the trees, so we went an' built in 'em."

Rows of men and women stood tall along the crosswalks, looking down suspiciously at the group. Their attention was distracted by a blinding red light and sharp cry as what seemed like a massive bird appeared from nothing. It swooped through the air, blue scales shining as it passed through the trees, and landed before John with a gentleness that belied its size.

John cowered back slightly, knowing full well not to anger the altaria. Even Tenji, despite his pugnacity, backed off from the beast.

Yet, the dragon paid no heed to them, as it immediately absorbed itself with preening its cloudy wings. A gray-haired man slid off the saddle on the altaria's back and made his way over to John. Matt bowed slightly out of what seemed to be respect.

The older man wasn't tall, but an aura of power permeated the air around him. His strut was slow but deliberate, and the weight of a lifetime of hardships and struggles streaked across his eyes. He stopped walking and stood across from John, staring intently at the boy.

"You're The General, aren't you," John said, unsure of what else to say. The boy couldn't help but tremble in awe at the sight of a legend standing before him.

The older man's eyes widened and then curled into something happier. His facade changed from something cold and calculating to fatherly. "Yes, that's what they call me," he said in a baritone voice. "Tell me, son, what's your name?"

Standing tall, he replied, "John Smith." The boy then mirrored Matt and lowered his body into a bow.

The older man let out a hearty chuckle at the sight. "Get up, my son, you need not follow such foolish antics."

"Sorry sir, I just thought – "

The older man put up a firm hand, silencing the blonde-haired boy. "You need not bow. You need not call me sir. We are all equals here. Now, if you would allow me to properly introduce myself?"

A pause, and then John nodded his head.

"I," the older man began, pointing his hand toward his chest, "am Dwayne Isaac Fortree. I oversee this settlement, yet we run it as a community; all are equal here. Allow me to personally welcome you inside." With that, he clasped his hands around John's and leaned in closer to speak. "I would love to speak to you in private. Meet me at the top level of that tree over there. Those are my private quarters."

The tree in question was massive specimen of what seemed like an oak tree, as its canopy towered over the other trees. Its thick trunk and base reminded John of the skyscrapers he saw in Rustboro, as they both the tree and the building looked the same in size. Pink flowers blossomed between the leaves of the massive tree, giving its canopy a mosaic pattern.

"That's incredible," John muttered, not sure if he should trust his eyes. Surely he would have seen something that massive on his way in. Remembering whom he was talking to, he shook his head and spoke louder. "I mean, that's the biggest tree I've ever seen!"

"As it was for me when I first saw it," Fortree answered as he swung himself onto his altaria. "Meet me there as soon as possible. I would like to discuss some things before I can officially allow you to stay in the settlement." With a soft kick, the dragon took to the sky and flew off into the trees. The crowd dispersed with the Fortree, and quiet retook the forested settlement.

"Whaddya' think of that," Matt asked.

John jumped, forgetting that Matt had been there the entire time, and turned to face him. "This place is incredible! How the hell did you guys do it?"

Matt chuckled. "Mister Fortree is a man of many things. You can ask him when I take you to his place."

The group started towards one of the ladders before Matt stopped and turned around again.

"Eh, I forgot one thing," He said, while pointing at Tenji. "No pokemon, unless during an emergency. You gotta recall that."

Nodding understandingly, John retrieved an apricot and recalled the shiftry.

"Thanks. That thing was givin' me the creeps, anyway."

"He's not all bad," John said, frowning. "So, what's considered an emergency?"

"You'll know," Matt replied.

The duo scaled up the tree. John found it harder to traverse than he previously thought, as the crosswalks were rickety and jostled with each step. The platforms around the trees were no safer; the narrow passageways and low guardrails kept the boy in constant fear of falling over.

Too focused on what he was walking on, John nearly experienced just that after bumping into a large, gruff Japanese man. The boy fell into the guardrail and looped his arms under, holding on for dear life and not daring to look over the edge. After slowing his breathing, which went rampant after nearly falling over, the boy cast a glance over to the man that pushed him, only to receive a stink eye and the cold shoulder.

"You alright there?" Matt asked, standing over the boy.

John looked up, registering Matt's presence, and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm fine." He stood up and checked his arms for scratches. After not finding anything, the boy pointed a thumb toward the man that pushed him. "What's that assholes problem?"

Matt stifled a laugh, and scratched his head. "Heh, that's Sataki. Bit rough around the edges, but a good guy once you get to know him. He's the kind of guy you want fighting for you, not against you."

"And why would I want that asshole fighting for me?" John asked, half facetious, half curious.

"Cus' he's like, six-seven and huge. And he's a good fighter, too." Matt motioned for the boy to come closer, and his voice dropped to a soft whisper. "Also, rumor has it he killed his master by crushing his skull with his bare hands."

John's eyes widened, and he cast another glance at the man. He was sitting there, sharpening a knife a protruded from his pocket, before locking eyes with John, at which point his face contorted into a quiet snarl.

John quickly averted his eyes, before meeting Matt's again. "Yeah, I can see that," the boy said quickly. "Let's go before he crushes my skull, too."

The trek was long and tedious for John, as he had little experience travelling vertically. His already weary body longed for a place to sit at the very least, and perhaps some food to fill his stomach. Again, with nothing to distract his mind, John's thoughts drifted back to Li. His body sagged with exhaustion, and his minds drifted further into his daydream. Gods, he could almost feel her body cuddle up against his. The warmth of her body and the heat of her breath all felt very real to John.

The thoughts vanished as quickly as they came. The boy opened his eyes and found himself on a large platform with a perch that extended about ten feet from the trunk of the tree. Matt stood by a doorway, waiting expectantly. Apparently, he spaced out for longer that he thought.

"Fortree's inside," Matt motioned with his shoulder. "You go first; I'll follow behind you."

The boy stepped quickly through the doorway, which was nothing more than a hole carved into the trunk of the tree. The air inside was damp, making it hard to breathe, and it was dark, save for two lanterns hanging on opposite ends of the room. A xatu stood silently in the left corner of the room, staring off into the distance. A large desk took up the majority of the room; Fortree sat quietly behind it. A rainbow feather sat in a cup on the right side of the table. John briefly looked curiously at the feather, as if it reminded him of something, before remembering who he was standing before, and cast his gaze at the General.

"I'm impressed you made it here so quickly," the older man mused, stroking his graying mustache. He pointed a hand toward a chair. "Come, sit, my son. Make yourself comfortable."

After John grabbed a seat, Fortree continued. "I'll cut to the chase: we simply do not have the room to house you for very long. I'm sure you've heard the rumors of a slaver camp on the northern shores of Lake Pyre?"

"I've experienced those rumors," John said with a nod.

"Is that why your eye is injured?" The older man asked, motioning towards John's bandana.

The boy instinctively reached a hand up towards his eye. "Yes," he responded slowly.

Fortree said nothing; instead, he pulled a pipe out of his jacket pocket and grabbed a bag of tobacco out of a desk drawer. He stuffed the dried leaves into the chamber and retrieved a matchbook from his other pocket. "That's unfortunate to hear. I'm sorry for your injury." He lit the pipe with a match and took a deep drag, filling the air with aromatic smoke. "The Mainlanders have caused pain to all of us. That is why I created this settlement: to create a beacon of hope for those who need it. You understand the importance of this, no?"

John said nothing, choosing to respond with a simple nod.

The older man puffed another cloud of smoke into the air. "Then you should also know that I value others' safety above all else. I would never throw a traveler such as you out into the forest, alone. But," Fortree shrugged his shoulders, "we simply don't have the room to house you for very long. I would just like to know how long you plan on staying, where you're heading. That sort of stuff. I'm sure you understand that we would like to keep quiet while the slavers are about, and it is hard to do that with too many people." He extended his hand out with the pipe in it.

"No thanks," John said while shaking his head. "Appreciate the offer, though," he added. The boy scratched his head, thinking of what to say. "I only plan on staying, at most, a week. I would just like some rest on my way to Verdanturf."

A look of surprise crossed the older man's face as he took another drag from his pipe. "Verdanturf. That's very far north. What could lie up there for a young man such as yourself?"

"My home," John answered.

"Why are you so far from home?"

John gulped, and beads of sweat began forming along his forehead again. "Personal stuff," he said quickly, hoping it wouldn't come off as too suspiscious.

Fortree remained quiet, choosing to take another drag from his pipe. After a few seconds, the older man took a large breath, releasing the dark smoke from his lungs. "Apologies if those questions made you uncomfortable, my son. You have to understand," he brought his hands to his chest, "I have people that rely on me for protection. I cannot forsake them by letting just anyone in."

The boy slumped back, relieved knowing that the questioning could have gone worse, and let out a sigh. "I understand."

"Good," Fortree said. "There's an open room at the lowest level of this tree. It will be yours for the week."

Jumping up from the good news, John rushed towards the desk, a giddy smile etched onto his face. "Thank you so much! You don't know how much I appreciate this."

"Of course," the older man said, returning the smile. "Go get some rest. I hope to speak with you again, soon."

John ran out of the room, giving a slight nod to Matt as he passed him by. The room went quiet after that, save for the soft burning of the tobacco leaves. It remained like this for several minutes.

"What's on your mind, Matt?" Fortree asked, breaking the silence.

Matt took a deep breath and made his way closer to the desk. "There's something –" His mind drew a blank as he struggled to convey what he was thinking. "Something not right about that kid." Matt slumped down into a chair as he attempted to gather his thoughts. "That's not what I mean to say. But there's just something, something –"

"Not human?" Fortree finished. He took another drag from his pipe.

An empty expression crossed Matt's face before emotion returned, at which point he jumped to his feet. "Yes. Not human." He ran a hand over his skull, reaching for an itch behind his neck. "It's that bandana. He's hiding something behind it. Every time I look at it, it gives me the chills. It's weird."

"I got the same feeling looking at it, too." Fortree said as he knocked his pipe against his desk, emptying it of the ashes. "But, everyone has their secrets. You of all people should know that, Matt."

The bald man sighed and sat back down in the chair. "I know. But this just feels different, y'know? He didn't even show up on the think-scans today, Fortree!"

The older man tilted his head, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Matt said, his voice growing firmer, "I mean that before I met him, I was doing think-scan rounds with Mara in the forest. He attacked me when his shiftry came swinging out of some bushes. He found me, when it should've been the other way around when I'm doing the think-scans."

"Perhaps his shiftry blocked out the psychic signals?" Fortree reasoned. "They are dark-types."

"True, but they can't emit dark pulses. I know that as a fact. That shiftry did not block any psychic signal, so it had ta' have come from that kid himself." Matt's eyes glowed with an intensity as his body shook.

Fortree saw this and lowered his voice into a soothing baritone. "Calm down Matt, there is nothing to get worked up over." The older man stood up, casting his powerful presence. "John seems like a good kid. You need not have to worry about him."

Matt sighed. "That's what's got me so confused right now. I want to like him, but looking at him creeps me out." He leaned forward in the chair, and rested his chin on a hand. "It's that bandana, it's hiding something and I don't like it."

Fortree walked toward Matt and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I think you could go for some rest, too."

A chuckle escaped from Matt's lips. "Yeah, I could go for a nap right now." He stood up.

"Go easy on the boy," Fortree said. "He's a good kid. I can sense it, and I know you can to."

"I'll try," Matt responded. He turned and began to walk out of the door.

"Just remember that everyone has their secrets," Fortree called after him. "It's best not to hold that against them."

* * *

John lay on a bed in a dank room. His eyes were crewed shut as his body lay motionless. Thoughts of the princess and his eye briefly flashed in his mind, but he was too tired focus energy on either. Thoughts of the rainbow feather he saw in the General's room flashed in his mind, too, yet he wasn't sure why he considered it so important. All he knew was that he remembered seeing one before. The boy closed his eyes returning his thoughts to the one thing they could focus on: sleep.

One week. One week before hitting the road again. John drifted off to sleep, wondering what excitement could possibly await him.

* * *

A man removed a pair of binoculars from his eyes. A large scar ran through his left eye. Before him stood the largest tree he had ever seen, with pink blossoms dotting its massive canopy.

A mightyena next to him growled lowly, but the man shushed the hound, quieting it.

He turned to his partners and, together, retreated into the woods.

* * *

**Wood Devil: **colloquialism for shiftry; the name derives from a folktale that tells of a shiftry that kidnapped people traveling through its forest and stole their souls; the name has garnered a deep mistrust of shiftry, especially among people that live near forests.

**The General****: **a nickname given to Dwayne Isaac Fortree; it was given to him after he reportedly took down a slaver camp a few miles outside of Lilycove single-handedly

**Rayquaza's Wind: **freedom group organized by Fortree and his followers; the name references the Japanese legend of a great wind that destroyed the ships of an invading people off the coast of Japan thousands of years ago; this name was chosen by these freedom fighters because it was believed that the great God of the sky, Rayquaza, would give them the strength to rid Hoenn of the Mainlanders

**Dragon's Fire****: **legends say that those hit by dragon's fire will forever feel the paralyzing burn; poke-scientists would later come to disprove this, saying the burn would last for no more than three weeks; the fire itself is bluish-purple in color, easily differentiating it form the fire of a fire-type


End file.
